


The Mystery of Laszlo Kreizler

by TameAVagrantLion



Category: The Alienist (TV), The Alienist - Caleb Carr
Genre: But also, Character Development, Character Study, Coming Out, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Homophobia, Seduction, Smut, lil bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-03-23 05:57:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13781184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TameAVagrantLion/pseuds/TameAVagrantLion
Summary: Twelve years ago, John confessed, and Laszlo accepted.Two years ago, John seduced, and Laszlo yielded.Two days ago, John loved, and Laszlo reciprocated.Three scenes from the past depicting the development of their relationship.





	1. Twelve Years Ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John confesses, and Laszlo accepts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this fic, I'm making John and Laszlo 30 and 35 respectively. Which means they're 18 and 23 in this chapter.
> 
> *Please note that the term "Homosexual" was coined in 1869, therefore it might be plausible for our characters to use it since the story takes place in 1896 (even though it wasn't popularized until 1906). Forgive the slight historical inaccurancy.

Twelve years had passed since John Moore had met Laszlo Kreizler. And what an unlikely friendship they’d been able to form, for the two men shared a similar social class and background, but in every other way they were as dissimilar as cats and dogs.

John, ever the social butterfly, easily charmed his way into most university circles despite being a freshman at Harvard. He had many friends but none of them were truly close. Until he met Kreizler, that is.

Laszlo, on the other hand, was all-consumed by his books. His lack of interest for social interaction and his avant-garde theories had turned him into an ostracized student. He was well known, however, for being the prodigy who, at only 23, had studied Medicine in Columbia before coming to Harvard for his second degree, this time on Criminal Psychology.

They’d met under unusual circumstances, when John suffered an injury during a football team practice. A strong hit to the head had left him concussed and Laszlo, being the closest doctor on campus, had quickly obliged to help. John would often reminisce about that first time he had needed Laszlo, and how he had never stopped needing him since.

They had quickly become inseparable. Different enough to find each other fascinating, but similar enough to understand each other perfectly. John’s light-heartedness and optimism perfectly complementing Laszlo’s seriousness and realism. And so, it was only natural for John to turn to Laszlo when his deepest secret became too heavy a burden for him to carry alone. John knew for certain that his friend would not only help him with his problem, being as he was an expert on psychological deviances, but he would also take the secret to the grave.

Kreizler, of course, had remained completely unaltered by the strange request of a meeting outside of college grounds, in the middle of an April night.

John hadn’t said a word about the subject matter of the encounter, but to Laszlo it was clear that something was upsetting him, he had never seen the younger man so quiet. Upon waiting for a moment and seeing his prolonged silence, he decided to speak first.

“As much as I enjoy your company, dear John, I sincerely hope you haven’t brought me here at two in the morning merely to share a glass of whiskey and stare at the fireplace”, Laszlo said in an effort to lighten the mood.

“I wish”, said John, trying his best to smile back despite the feeling of dread overcoming him.

“You said something about needing my professional help, as a patient?” asked Laszlo.

“And as a friend”, John replied, and swallowed hard to get rid of the knot in his throat.

“As you know, I don’t have my degree just yet”, Laszlo said, ever the professional, “but you know I will help you in any way I can”, he added with a smile.

It was exactly what John had hoped to hear, but it made him none less nervous to admit to his problem.

“I… I’m afraid I’m sick, Laszlo. Sick in the head”, he started, the shame and disgust clear in his voice. Encouraging himself with a sip of whiskey, John continued. “And if my family finds out they’ll surely send me away to an asylum. You have to help me get better”, he pleaded, distressed at the mere thought of the shame it would entail.

He saw Laszlo’s countenance visibly shift, from laid back to one of both curiosity and seriousness. The doctor took a moment to study John before speaking.

“I’d like to believe I would have noticed if my closest friend were to show any symptoms of disorder.” He held John’s gaze and tried to sound reassuring, as he added, “Tell me all about it”.

The problem was clear, and common as well. But John could not find it in him to say it out loud.

“Well, you see… I find myself having some degree of an unnatural attraction”, he started. He looked at Laszlo to see if his words had been enough for him to guess, but his friend merely nodded at him to continue. John sighed.

“A… physical, attraction”. He looked away to say the final words, “To people… of my own sex”. He finished. Laszlo’s eyes lit up in realization, and John quickly panicked, afraid of his friend passing judgment. Unable to look at the older man in the face, John stood up and started frantically pacing the room.

“It’s terrible, I know! I… I want to stop it, I want to change! I just need to know how. I can’t afford the risk of my reputation being ruined and…”

“John, sit down.” Laszlo tried to stop the other man’s ramblings, but to no avail.

“…And I’ve thought about just hiding it, but I’m scared someone will look at me and just _know_! it’s driving me insane, Laszlo”

“John!” Laszlo shouted. The doctor seldom lost his temper like this, it made John stop in his tracks, breathing heavily. Laszlo stood up and walked to him.

“Sit. Down.” The older man said. Despite being shorter and smaller in size, the authority in his voice was more than enough to make John obey immediately.

A couple of sips of whiskey later, John had recovered his composure. Laszlo was then ready to give him his diagnosis. The young man braced himself for what followed, since he knew Laszlo to be painfully honest and straightforward with his opinion. The next words would prove, however, that he didn’t know his friend as well as he thought.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you”, was all he said.

John did not know how to react to that. He wondered if his friend was mocking him and asked him so. But he assured him of his sincerity.

“Stop playing with me, Laszlo”, said John, angrily. “I know for a fact that every single one of those psychology books you love so much have something to say about the abhorrent deviancy of the homosexual sickness”.

“Only narrow minds stick to what’s written in books, John”, Laszlo replied calmly. “I have done extensive research and I’ve found some studies that discovered natural same-sex relationships between many animal species. They’ve all been covered up and buried by the scientific establishment, which I personally believe to be a crime”. Laszlo continued his musings without noticing John’s growing anger. “Besides, there are also many historical accounts dating back to ancient Greece where it was a perfectly normal part of society.”

John felt himself starting to lose his patience. When he replied, his voice gradually raised until he was screaming the words.

“Well I am neither an animal or an uncivilized barbarian, so again, I ask of you to forget your wayward theories for a second and help me get rid of this like a _normal_ psychologist would!”.

Laszlo was rendered speechless. For a second, John could clearly see in his expression how stunned and offended he was, and instantly regretted saying it. But the older man quickly recovered from the shock, and it was replaced with cold and barely contained anger.

“Very well then. A ‘normal’ expert, as you put it, would tell you that the combined trauma of a bad relationship with your father, along with the early death of a younger brother caused you to reach out for masculine figures in an un-natural way. And he would prescribe conversion therapy, or even punitive therapy, and lock you up for life. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

John could no longer keep the tears that had formed in his eyes from finally running free. Kreizler realized that he’d failed, both as a professional and a friend, to help him. The usual feeling of disappointment in himself washed through him. Why did he always hurt the people he cared about the most?

Determined not to risk losing his friend because of his insensitivity, Laszlo slowly approached and kneeled in front of John’s chair, trying to meet the green eyes that were avoiding him. He took one of John’s hands in his good one and spoke again. His voice was softer this time, but none the less passionate.

“There is nothing wrong with you”, he said. John returned his gaze then and found nothing but honesty in Laszlo’s hazel eyes.

“My only prescription would be to stop living your life in shame, guilt and fear”, he added, with a look so earnest that John felt a surge of affection upon the realization that Laszlo was truly worried about him. The older man spoke once more.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be very discreet with this part of yourself, due to the laws in place, but always know that in my presence, you can be completely honest”, said Laszlo. Next, he stood up again and started refilling both of their glasses with whiskey, as if everything was normal, as if, with those words, Laszlo hadn’t irrevocably carved his way into John’s heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts on this, don't hesitate to give me some concrit on the comments!


	2. Two Years Ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John seduces, and Laszlo yields.

John Schuyler Moore considered himself to be a happy man, if anyone were to ask. He had a well-paid job as a journalist for the most reputable newspaper in New York and many friends to surround himself with. And, of course, he had Kreizler. But despite apparently having everything a man could ask for, John knew that something was missing. It was not the constant emptiness that he’d been carrying since his brother passed away, no. It was something different, as if happiness was at arm’s reach but he could never completely grasp it. He’d first felt it when Julia had left him, and he realized that love was not a possibility to him, not if he kept living a lie. John had then abandoned all pursuit of women, knowing fully well they could not give him what he needed. And so, the missing piece in his life remained such, and only grew with the years. With time, John came to discover that the empty space was cut exactly in the shape of Laszlo Kreizler. Their solidifying friendship and partnership only made this more evident, like a bare wall stands out inside a cluttered house.

John’s days were dull, and repetitive. He’d spend his mornings sketching portraits for wealthy, boring people, his evenings working for the newspaper, and his nights trying to drink enough to be able to fall asleep. But the moments he spent with Laszlo, he came alive. Whether they were talking for hours about any and all subjects, or spending the whole afternoon working silently side by side, John would be the closest to feeling complete. Still it was not enough for him, but it was unfair to ask for more. How could he, when the doctor had already exceeded his wildest expectations the moment he chose to accept him for exactly who he was. John would never forget the night when he had made Laszlo the only person to know him completely. He had bared his soul for those beautiful calculating eyes of his and had found nothing but understanding in them. But, in truth, he did long for more than just understanding, and that was reciprocation.

John had never dared to show Laszlo even a hint of his attraction, for fear of crossing a line, a limit of what was acceptable. And so, he’d learned to deal with his urges every so often, in a high-end brothel at the heart of the city. He always needed to be black-out drunk, however, to make the experience of another’s body even a tolerable alternative.

But there had always been this doubt. This fleeting, minuscule thread of hope, that would never leave John’s mind and would only grow at the sight of certain signs from Laszlo. Most of the time John had to convince himself he was only imagining things when he felt the older man’s eyes linger on him for slightly longer than appropriate, or when an affectionate touch on the shoulder would send his world reeling. Were these the normal behaviors of two lifelong friends? Or was there something else hiding under Laszlo’s inscrutable countenance? He had always been so closed off to the world, willing to help everyone but unable to accept help himself. Laszlo Kreizler was indeed a hard person to love, John thought. But often the people who are hardest to love are the ones that need it the most. And if there was even an inkling of a possibility that his friend felt something more for him, he would find out.

Unveiling people’s innermost desires was Laszlo’s specialty, not John’s, but he’d be damned if he hadn’t picked some skills up through the years, and now he would make use of them to unravel the mystery of Laszlo Kreizler.

 

* * *

 

John and Laszlo’s rendezvous were routinely organized, but tonight, John Moore would step out into uncharted territory. And it scared the hell out of him. His right hand came up to touch his breast pocket for the hundredth time today on a reflex, but the familiar flask he always carried with him wasn’t there. No liquid courage for him today, he’d decided to be completely sober going into the fateful evening with the Alienist, for he would need to be clear-headed if he was to confront Laszlo’s sharp wits.

Laszlo had sent Cyrus to fetch John in the carriage, for the evening threatened with rain, and the dark and uneasy sky mirrored John’s own state of mind. No turning back now.

Three knocks, and the door opened. John was expecting to see the ever-gentle Mary, so he wasn’t prepared for Laszlo himself to greet him at the other end. The sight of the older man left him breathless, he looked dashing. His perfectly trimmed beard, his beautiful bright eyes. And he was wearing his best suit. _This is all for me_ , John thought. _For an evening with me_. A smile formed on his lips of its own accord, and he stepped in, followed by Laszlo.

“Where’s Mary?”, John asked, for a lack of something better to say, while they walked towards the dining room.

“I gave her the night off”, said Laszlo. “She deserves it”.

John nodded, his mind reeling with the possibilities. They were alone. Hopeless was the attempt to stop his brain from conjuring up all sorts of scenarios, of them together, up in Laszlo’s bedroom…

“John?”, his friend interrupted his wild thoughts. He looked at Laszlo, who appeared to be expecting an answer to a question John hadn’t heard.

“I said we better tuck in, food is already served. We would not want it to get cold”, Laszlo repeated.

Dinner went by smoothly, they talked animatedly, and John let himself relax. If Laszlo noticed his unusual choice of water instead of wine, he did not say anything. They ate slowly, accommodating for Laszlo’s difficulty due to his arm injury. When they finished, John thought it was time to start his investigation. Just as he was about to make the first move, Laszlo beat him to it.

“I got us tickets to the Opera tonight”, he said enthusiastically. “Othello”.

John pulled a face, he loathed Opera. Any other night, however, he would have agreed to go, because Laszlo absolutely loved them. Most times, John would try to sneak some glances at Laszlo’s enthralled expression during the play and then fall asleep before a quarter of the show had gone by. But not tonight, he thought. Opera was not conducive to conversation, and therefore, not conducive to his plan.

“I was rather hoping we’d stay in tonight”, John replied. Surprise crossed Laszlo’s face for a fleeting moment, which didn’t go unnoticed by John, but he quickly recovered.

“Very well”, the doctor replied, indifferently.

Both men then got up and moved to the drawing room, falling into the motions of their comfortable routine: Laszlo would often read while John sketched, together in silent companionship. Laszlo picked up a book from the enormous book-case and took his usual spot on the settee. John, in turn, lay draped over the chaise longue in front of him. For the next fifteen minutes, the only sounds surrounding them were the drops of rain, the crackling of the fire, and the soft brush of John’s carbon against paper. Without looking up from his book, Laszlo broke the silence.

“What are you sketching?”, he asked.

"You", John simply replied. He’d never done his friend’s portrait before. Not to Laszlo’s knowledge at least. The artist took his eyes from the paper to steal a quick glance at his friend. And there it was, a sight John had never dreamed he’d witness: slowly creeping from under his collar, Laszlo Kreizler was blushing red.

John resisted the smile that threatened to appear in his lips. _Oh Laszlo, how talented you are for lying with your words, but your body tells a different story. Strike one._

"How could you be drawing me, if you are not looking at me", Laszlo said, trying to sound like his usually confident self and failing miserably.

 _I don't need to look, I know every feature by heart, I see you even in my dreams. I could sketch you with my eyes closed_ , John thought.

But he didn't say that, instead, he lowered his paper and _looked._ He started with Laszlo’s eyes, held his gaze, daring him to look away. Then slowly, tantalizingly, he wandered down to the doctor’s body. Letting his full desire show, shamelessly staring. He was undressing him with his eyes.  _There you go, I’m looking at you now, Laszlo_.

When his gaze came back to the older man’s visage, John was greeted with yet another beautiful view. Laszlo Kreizler, looking positively flustered like a virgin in a brothel.  _Strike two_.

The Alienist was all confident in every aspect of life, but when it came to love, to sex, John knew the man was as clueless as any other. It was clear he had read John's intent, for the air was thick with tension. And if the doctor's deep breaths were any sign to go by, he was anything but indifferent to his advances.

John stood up, walked to the older man, and looked at him for a torturous minute. He was looming over him, studying him with hunger in his green eyes, while Laszlo looked up, with fire reflected in his own hazel ones. John lifted his hand, and slowly ran his fingers through his friend’s perfectly combed hair, giving him a beautifully disheveled look. Laszlo's eyes closed at the touch.

“There, I’ve always wanted to see you like this”, John said, his voice low. He looked down and relished at the sight of his accomplishment. Laszlo Kreizler was sporting a very obvious erection. John licked his lips, victorious. _Strike three_.

When he saw John eyeing his pants, Laszlo swallowed hard, and when he spoke next, his voice was raw with desire.

“I don’t think this is wise”, he said. His expression did not match his words, however.

“And I don’t think you mean that”, John replied with a dangerous smile. He leaned over the older man, he’d always wanted to be this close, he could feel his warm breath on his skin now. He moved his mouth until it was next to Laszlo’s ear, and whispered, “Your accent gets thicker when you’re nervous, did you know that? It’s most endearing”. Laszlo’s pulse was racing, he could not take the teasing much longer.

“John, we probably shouldn’t…” Laszlo tried to sound convincing, but his resolve was dissolving with every passing second.

“Tell me to leave and I’ll go”, John dared him.

“ _Niet_ ”, Laszlo quickly replied, pleadingly. “I want this”, he then admitted, finally giving in to desire.

That was all John needed to hear. The artist then slowly put his hand over Laszlo’s, gently took the book away from him and, without breaking eye contact, threw it aside. As soon as the book hit the ground, Laszlo’s lips clashed with John’s with a passion long held hidden. Laszlo poured years of repressed desires into the kiss, along with the frustration of not having told his friend sooner about his longing for him. He licked, bit, and caressed John’s mouth with his own, while his hand roamed the plains of the younger man’s chest. John broke the kiss for a second to move his body so that they were better aligned, and pressed hard against Laszlo, the friction eliciting a moan from the Doctor. He then searched again for his mouth, like a drowning man searches for air.

John noticed Laszlo’s hand fumbling with the buttons of his trousers.

“Allow me”, John said, breathless from their kiss. He quickly undid them and took Laszlo in his hand. The older man hissed and threw his head back when John started working him slowly, agonizingly so. John was in awe at the sight of Laszlo Kreizler, the usually self-contained man, wild with pleasure from his touch. He had never seen anything as gorgeous, and tried his best to memorize every expression, he’d want to draw him like this, later on.

“John”, pleaded Laszlo, close to his peak. His name had never sounded so right, John thought. A few more strokes had Laszlo grunting and, with his head resting on John’s shoulder and his hand grasping his shirt tightly, he came undone in John’s hand.

How awkward would the stains on his favorite suit be to explain to Mary, Laszlo thought. And how little he cared. He let a chuckle of pure relief, still trying to normalize his breathing. He lifted his head from where it was laying on John’s chest and smiled tentatively at him, an expression rarely seen on the Doctor's face. His hair was a mess, and his eyes were brighter than ever. He looked ten years younger, John thought. The artist took out a kerchief from his jacket and offered it to Laszlo, who took it without a word and rinsed his soiled shirt.

“Take that smug smile out of your face, John Moore”, said the Alienist.

Back to normal, then, John lamented. How quickly had his time run out. Still, John chuckled, satisfied with the outcome of his little experiment. He turned more serious then, and faced Laszlo to ask, “Why did you not tell me before?”.

Laszlo sat upright, back to his typical rigid posture, and fixing his clothes to look half decent again, he stutteringly replied, “Well... I could not in good conscience be involved in relations of this nature, after all, science considers sexual appetite to be incompatible with mental distinction, I must remain focused and…”

“You were scared”, John interrupted. He smiled to himself, he was getting better at picking up his friend’s lies.

Laszlo let out a long sigh. He sent John a half smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. It took him a long minute to reply.

“I was scared”, he admitted, with no little difficulty.

John stood up, grabbed the book that lay open on the floor, and put it on the coffee table. So, Laszlo had let him do the things he’d been dreaming about for ten years, he thought. It was better than he’d ever hoped, but it was over now. He reached to take his sketching kit and turned to leave.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Laszlo asked, confused.

“Home?”, John half said, half asked.

Laszlo smiled. “Of course not. We’re at the Opera, John. And this is only the _intermezzo_ ”, he said suggestively. John absolutely melted.

 _God. This man will be the death of me_.

“Come on then”, Laszlo’s words took him out of his reverie, “it’s my turn now”, he said matter-of-factly. “And I have a lot of wasted time to make up for”.

The two men climbed the stairs up to Laszlo’s room, and the Alienist made sure to show John exactly the extent of the fantasies he’d been harboring for years.

Downstairs, under the settee, lay abandoned a piece of parchment. The half-finished portrait that had started it all.

                                                                     

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I was going to have them just talk it out but my hand slipped and now it's smut. Anyways I hope it doesn't disappoint, I don't have much experience writing smut.  
> I'd love to hear your comments on this, what you did or didn't like, it really helps me get better!
> 
> Fanart credit: knkrd on Deviantart.


	3. Two Days Ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John loves, and Laszlo reciprocates.
> 
> Set during S01E06: Ascension. Warning for spoilers for said episode.

Laying on a familiar bed, lulled by the peaceful silence of the night, and feeling the warmth of the body next to his, John Moore still couldn’t sleep. His nights had always been haunted by nightmares, but recent events had added more than one to his collection. However, what plagued his mind tonight had nothing to do with the image of his brother, being swallowed alive by the sea. And it wasn’t the ghostly sight of a desecrated child lying dead on a bridge, either. On this occasion his restlessness had been caused, like many times before, by the man quietly sleeping next to him. Laszlo Kreizler had always been a mysterious man, but John had foolishly believed he’d come to know every side of him in the twelve years of partnership they’d shared so far. As per usual, however, he had been proved wrong by the secret Sara had recently uncovered.

John wasn’t sure whether the anger he felt was pointed towards Laszlo for lying to him all this time, or Sara, for playing detective with their lives, or himself, for being unable to discover in twelve years what she had in only a couple of weeks. But above the anger, there was a sadness, and a sharp stab of betrayal. Over the years, Laszlo had opened him up and dissected every little piece of him, only to build him up again, and John had been less than resistant, even willing. He trusted the older man with his life and with his soul. He wondered why he had not been enough for Laszlo to be compelled to do the same.

John turned his head to watch him, but he could barely make up his sleeping form in the dimness of the room. Was this how it had always been? Laszlo hidden in the shadows, and John able to distinguish only the vaguest outlines of his essence? He sighed. It should not be a big deal, he thought. It should not matter, he repeated. But the tears, stubborn, insisted on clouding what little vision he had. John rolled over, turning away from the man he had come to love and that now seemed like a stranger. He stayed like this until the sun started pouring in. The darkness of the night slowly faded away but the bitterness in John’s heart did not.

In the morning, Laszlo woke up to find John already downstairs, where an always discreet Mary would serve them breakfast after their nights together. They ate quietly for a while, and John contemplated Laszlo, debating whether to say something about what he’d learned days before. A mix of disappointment and tiredness loomed over him. Was it even worth it to try and get the answers he deserved? At this point, it was clear that he’d never finish unraveling the mystery that was Laszlo Kreizler.

John sighed again.

“Do you think Sara knows?”, he then said, breaking the silence.

Laszlo looked at John over the morning paper he had been skimming through.

“Know about what exactly?”

John vaguely gestured between the two of them for all response.

“No, John. I doubt it”, Laszlo replied, disinterested, and focused his attention on the paper once more.

His indifference hurt.

“She knows way more than you’d think”. John said, thoughtful. Laszlo didn’t reply.

The next days, John said nothing. It was better not to push matters, he decided. Not so close to the very important night ahead of them: Pentecost. It was their last chance to catch the killer before he took another life. Everything was at stake, and they could not risk failing again. Laszlo was more anxious than ever, and John feared it would not take much for the man to completely fall apart. Little did he know how close it was to the truth.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

Failed. He’d failed again. Laszlo’s left fist hit the wooden table, strong enough to wake Mary, at four in the morning the day after Pentecost. He’d just come back from the brothel and could not stop pacing, like a caged animal.

Another dead child, and the blood was on his hands. What else would he have to sacrifice to solve this case? He’d endangered the lives of his friends and colleagues. Stevie, for god’s sake, was only a child. Cyrus was wounded, too. And Sara…

His hand was still burning with the feeling of her cheek against his palm. He closed it tightly to stop the trembling. His breathing was labored, and his pulse was racing. In a faraway corner of his analytical brain, the words “panic attack” formed, but he brushed them away.

What kind of monster had he become? So many years of running away from his past, but he’d known someday it would all catch up to him. And now there was no one he could go to. No, he’d made sure to push everyone away.

Another wave of shame rose up from his chest at the memory of Sara’s shocked face after he’d struck her. Disbelief, betrayal, fear. Was that what his own expression had been of when his father did the same to him all those years ago? How had he ended up being the monster he’d always feared? After all, he was not any better than the criminal he was pursuing.

He continued pacing back and forth, half out of his mind, but unable to calm down. Dozens of thoughts swarmed his overloaded mind, numb and sleep deprived. He could not say how much time passed before he heard a sound coming from just outside the study.

 _Mary_ , he remembered. Of course, he must have alarmed her. Again, how careless of him to only consider his own problems, while making life difficult for everyone else. But then, in stepped John, with a grave look on his face.

“Mary let me in. She’s quite frightened.” He said. He did not sound angry, and Laszlo could not decipher his expression. He wanted to tell him to leave. He would not seem weak in front of John. But he could only look at him. The pain in his eyes was begging him to stay, and so John did. He had never deserved this man, Laszlo thought.

John approached him in silence and, placing a gentle hand on Laszlo’s shoulder, guided them both to be seated. All the while Laszlo avoided John’s eyes, for fear of what the other man might see in them. Laszlo sat cradling his bad arm in his good one, like a bird with a broken wing. John thought he’d never seen the man look so vulnerable. Laszlo then tried to speak but his usually eloquent words now sounded strained.

“Sara… she… I…”

“She told me what happened”, John merely stated. He had found it hard to believe Sara when she recounted the events of the previous night. She had confronted Laszlo about his bad arm and he’d just… snapped. John had run to his house without thinking it twice.

Laszlo spoke softly, still incapable of looking at the other man.

“How long?”

“A week or so. It was she who found out”, replied John, unable to repress the slight hurt in his voice.

Laszlo’s usual impassive countenance was absent, and John could now clearly see his friend’s every emotion etched upon his features. Right now, there was clear surprise at his words.

“You didn’t say anything”, Laszlo whispered.

John sighed.

“Because I don’t need to know”. He simply replied.

Laszlo finally turned towards John, and questioning eyes met reassuring ones.

“You’ve accepted me as I was, right from the very start”, John said. The right corner of his lip tugged upwards at the memory of his troubled younger self, and how he’d found understanding in the man sitting next to him. “I intend to do the same”, he finished with a shrug. Then he just smiled at Laszlo. As if loving him was the easiest thing in the world. He, a man so tightly sealed, so impenetrable that he hadn’t been able to share his fears with the person he cared about the most.

Laszlo sat there, speechless. He looked at John with the wonder of a man who, for the first time, encounters a riddle he cannot solve. He decided he would not try to understand it, but he would work his whole life to deserve it. The mystery that was the unconditional love of John Moore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end for my short character study attempt for these two. If you've read this far, thank you so much!  
>  **Thoughts?**


End file.
